


I’m Taking It All For Us

by rejectofsociety



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Tragedy, Apocalypse, Avengers Family, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, F/M, Flash Thompson Needs a Hug, Good Friend Ned Leeds, Harley Keener & Peter Parker Friendship, Heavy Angst, Michelle Jones is a Little Shit, Miles Morales Needs a Hug, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Michelle Jones, Whump, assume everyone is going to die, flash Thompson is a good friend, no character is safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27402988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rejectofsociety/pseuds/rejectofsociety
Summary: The Avengers lost the Endgame battle, now the rest of Earth pays the price. After the death of his family, Peter Parker decides enough is enough and it’s time to take down the Black Order that has been dictating Earth for the past two years.
Relationships: Betty Brant/Ned Leeds, Gwen Stacy/Miles Morales, Peter Parker/Michelle Jones
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. Daddy Ain’t At Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shit show

The air was thick with smoke and dust— Peter could hardly breath. He kept a scarf wrapped around his mouth and nose, his eyes protected by a pair of goggles coated in grime. He whirled around a few times, his vision blurred as a deafening, high-pitched ringing consumed his hearing.

"Peter!" A muffled voice barked.

He blinked rapidly, as if that could fix his bleeding ears. His arm was harshly taken hold of by a killer grip as he was forced to look into the stone-cold eyes of Michelle.

"C'mon, idiot," she spat, her voice muffled with her own scarf, "you're gonna get us killed!"

Shaken out of his shock, Peter's expression hardened into a disdainful glare as he yanked his arm away, "go ahead without me! I need to know they're okay!"

"They're dead!" Michelle implored, "and we'll all be joining them if we don't get the hell outta here!"

Peter growled in frustration, "then you guys go, and I'll die! Wouldn’t you _love_ that?"

Michelle hesitated, fury and frustration boiling within her, "fine," she huffed, "we're locking the doors and the sun's setting, good luck living."

"Thanks for that," Peter muttered as the two hastily parted ways.

Michelle sprinted back to a small group of people dressed similarly to Peter and herself: scarves around their mouths and noses, goggles protecting their eyes, and covered head to toe in thick, leather garments.

Meanwhile, Peter charged across the clearing before him. The sun was completely blocked out with air pollution as the ground below him was charred to a crisp with embers floating around him. He jumped over burnt corpses and dodged fallen, flaming trees with ease, his spider sense always telling him where the next obstacle would be positioned. His lungs forced inadequate breaths of semi-filtered smog in and out of his body, making him choke and cough occasionally.

A little over a mile away, his target lay in a fresh pile of ruins that was partially sunken into the ground and overflowing with smoke and flames. The sight made his heart thunder obnoxiously in his chest and tears were already stinging his eyes. _Don't be dead. Don't be dead. Mr. Stark, please don't be dead_ , he silently begged.

With his superhuman endurance and speed, Peter reached the site in under a minute. What used to be the proud and seemingly indestructible Avengers Compound was now crippled and collapsed, with a crater at the center where a bomb had landed. There were no signs of life as far as his hyperaware senses could tell. He slid down the sloping ground into the sinkhole where the living space sat. 

"Mr. Stark!?" He shouted into the settling dust.

When he was met with silence, his eyes went wide with horror. Resisting the urge to remove the scarf around his mouth, he tried again. This time, he dialed up his volume:

"Mr. Stark! Nat!"

Nothing.

"Tony! Rhodey! Anybody!"

His hands began trembling and he felt his legs grow weak.

"Dad!" He cried, his voice growing tight with desperation.

In the distance, he could faintly hear the rusted groan of a metal lock clanking shut. He was officially trapped outside with nothing but the burning corpses of his family.

Drawing a shallow, shuddering breath in through his nose, Peter felt his stomach turn with the metallic scent of boiling blood and burning flesh. The smell wasn't far off from ground beef in a frying pan, making Peter lose what small appetite he had previously.

As he paced around the ruins, his boots crunching the dirt and debris beneath him were the only sound that met his ears which were coated with dried blood. He felt as though every emotion had been sucked out of him, leaving him to be an empty shell of a human. His eyes were looking but not seeing, as if the world had disappeared along with his conscious, making him a lame puppet to be controlled by an eccentric spirit. Despite the tears in his eyes, not a single one fell. He didn't have time to waste on tears, whether they were shed for an acquaintance or his family— now was not the time to cry.

He grunted softly as his foot was caught on a stiff corpse, making him stumble forward. Before he could hit the ground, he extended his opposite leg to catch himself. With a sigh, he turned his head to look down at the inconvenience.

The body was blackened and burnt with a shard of steel lodged in the center of its chest. Peter was about to continue on his path to nowhere, only to halt and go pale at an unmistakable pair of squarish glasses in the corpse's clenched fist.

"M-mister Stark?" He choked out.

His legs gave out underneath him and he fell to his knees before the dead body of Tony Stark. His stomach twisted nauseatingly and his throat burned at the feeling of vomit rushing to his mouth. He clapped a hand over his scarf and tore the fabric away from his face. Puking up half-digested rations and bile, Peter just barely missed caking his deceased mentor in vomit. Pollution gratefully filled his lungs, causing him to choke and cough between gags and wrenching. Gasping for breath, only for his sinuses and throat to be clogged with dust, Peter frantically fumbled with his scarf. His coughs grew heavier and heavier until he found himself choking on the air itself. _You're so incredibly stupid, is this seriously gonna be how you die?_ He sobbed internally.

Lungs on the verge of giving up, he managed to clasp the scarf over his mouth and nose, stopping anymore deadly particles from entering his body. Taking in shallow, wheezy breaths, Peter stared down at Tony's corpse.

"I'm so sorry, Dad," he managed to whisper before shakily rising to his feet.

Part of him wanted to stay and find the rest of the Avengers' bodies so he could bury them, maybe give them a partial funeral. The other part of him knew that was out of the question: the sun was beginning to set, meaning the outriders would be on their way to tear apart any living creature they could find. He had to leave— now.

Peter could hardly jog away from the Compound, his lungs were too clogged. Yet, he was forced to make haste and move as quickly as possible, regardless of how pale his lack of oxygen made him. His entire body was trembling with exhaustion as his mind tried desperately to process the events.

_I just lost my family._

_I just lost my family._

_I just lost my family._

No matter how many times he repeated it to himself, it didn't seem to sink in. It was like there was a vibranium barrier stopping the news from settling.

Finally, he reached a massive, iron trapdoor embedded in the ground, partially covered by a coating of sod. Rapidly growing lightheaded, Peter bent over and yanked the steel handle, only for his arm to be jerked harshly and the door to stay closed. He huffed then stood upright, _that's why we have two entrances._

He stood at the far left corner of the door then frantically paced forward twenty steps, turned ninety degrees to the left, and took seven steps. With each breath being shaky and uncertain, his right foot collided with a small stone, making him stop in his tracks then squat down and lift up the rock with a shaky hand. Beneath was a small screen requesting a passcode. Having been the one to set up the password, Peter knew it by heart and punched it in:

**_72892500_ **

The ground next to him shifted and rumbled, then a trapdoor revealed itself hesitantly. Peter rushed to set the rock back down then yanked the hatch open, grateful to see it wasn't locked. He quickly hopped down and landed gracefully with a grunt on a cool, concrete floor. Instantly, he tore away his scarf and removed his goggles, blinking about a hundred times to clear his rapidly blurring vision. He panted and wheezed for breath, the air was musty but the freshest available in the apocalyptic scene.

"What the FUCK WHERE YOU THINKING?!" Michelle barked as she kicked Peter harshly in the stomach.

Peter gasped and stumbled backwards, only catching himself as his back collided with a cement wall. Now dressed in a white tank top and worn out jeans, Michelle glowered down at Peter with an expression so loathing, it made him shudder. Her jaw was tight, her brow furrowed, russet eyes seeing red, curly hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, and lips pressed into a furious frown, she certainly wasn't a woman a normal person would talk back to. Peter was not a normal person. He was a person with superhuman capabilities and fueled with rage by just looking at his ex-girlfriend.

"I was thinking my family's base just exploded and I wanted to make sure they weren't-" he coughed heavily, "weren't dead!"

Michelle opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Peter's choking. His face was ghostly pale as he pressed his back against the wall behind him and collapsed to the ground.

Summoned by the all-too-familiar gagging sounds, Betty pushed past Michelle and knelt down next to Peter. One glance at his bluish lips and Betty's eyes went wide with horror.

"Harley!" She cried.

As the Southerner raced to her aid, Michelle stared daggers into Peter's bloodshot eyes. Peter stared back with his foggy vision, wishing with every bone in his body she would one day find herself in his position: choking to death on closing lungs while trying to comprehend her family's death.

"Goddamn you, Pete," Harley hissed as he scooped his weakened friend into his arms, "what the hell'd you do?"

"I-i-" was all Peter could wheeze.

"Oh hush, I wasn't lookin' for an answer," Harley replied, his Southern drawl rather comforting to Peter's failing body.

He continued gasping and coughing, his brain rapidly running out of oxygen as Harley carried him down a hallway with its low ceiling lit with flickering, fluorescent lights. Betty trailed him, containing her panic the best she could. The way Peter was coughing meant one thing: he was dying. No one inhaled the toxic atmosphere outside and survived more than a few minutes. That was the point of the scarves: to filter as much of the gas as possible. They weren't ideal and maybe a little uncomfortable, but it was worth it to survive.

Harley barged into a wide-open room with light blue walls, ten medical beds, and medical supplies chaotically organized.

"Ned, you're buddy's dyin,'" Harley called as he dropped Peter, now quivering terribly, onto a medical bed.

"What?!" Ned exclaimed as he hurried to the bedside.

"I said he's dyin,'" Harley repeated.

"Yeah, yeah I heard you," Ned hissed.

Harley stepped back and muttered an apology. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his torn jeans and knit his brow in concern as he watched Ned and Betty fuss over their friend. Despite appearing casual and hardly bothered, Harley's heart was palpitating in panic as cold sweat dripped down his back. He had watched his sister die the same way just over a year ago, wheezing and shivering with pale skin and blue lips until her lungs and heart exhausted themselves. Her body had suffocated itself and Peter was meeting the same fate.

"Get the oxygen tank, that should at least buy us some time," Ned ordered shakily.

Betty nodded stiffly and paced across the room to retrieve a smallish, metal tank on wheels with a tube and clear-ish, face mask attached to it. She dragged it back to friends and quickly attached the mask to Peter's face, covering his mouth and nose as it provided him with fresh air.

"Anything I can do to help?" Harley piped up anxiously.

"Help him sit up," Betty ordered as she clipped a heartbeat monitor to Peter's finger.

Not wasting a second, Harley sat on the edge of the medical bed by his friend's head and gently took hold Peter. He heaved him upright and leaned his shuddering body against his own. Peter was now writhing in pain as he struggled to draw in labored, hoarse breaths. 

"Calm down, lil' buddy," Harley murmured, partially to Peter and partially to himself. 

Ned briefly glanced at the heart monitor which captured Peter's slowing heart rate, "shit," he muttered under his breath then looked over at Betty who was staring at a projected, blue screen with seemingly endless information, "how much time does he have?"

When she replied, Betty's tone was surprisingly calm, "he's healing himself."

Harley and Ned perked up, "what?" They asked in unison. 

"He has regenerative healing, remember?" she explained, "it's slow, but he should be okay. Er- he will be if his system can get rid of the toxins by tonight. And don't worry about the slowed heartbeat, that's necessary."

The boys sighed in relief and Ned managed a grateful smile. 

"I forgot about that," Ned admitted, "but what if he doesn't heal by tonight?"

"He'll die," Betty shrugged, not taking her wide eyes off the screen.

Harley wrapped his arms around his currently unconscious friend, "you're really somethin' special, ain't you, Pete?"

"I should tell Michelle he's alive," Betty stated.

"No, don't," Ned quickly disagreed, "she'll be pissed-"

"Why am I gonna be pissed?" Michelle demanded as she entered the medicine wing. 

"Uh-" Betty's mind drew a blank, recalling her furious glare from earlier. 

"Pete's not gonna die," Harley spoke— he wasn't _too_ afraid of Michelle. 

The young woman's expression hardened into a nasty, bone-chilling stare, "how the fuck is that possible?"

"He's a special guy," Harley made his tone sound bright and innocent, "I mean, jus' look at his face."

Michelle rolled her eyes, refusing to look directly at Peter, "but... he might still die. Right? Like... there's a chance he won't make it."

"I mean..." Ned's gaze somberly landed on his unconscious friend. He and Peter had been through hell and back together, time and time again; he was one of the few people he couldn't afford to lose. Just the thought of the heart monitor flatlining made his heart pound in his throat and his head grow light. After watching so many friends and family die in the past two years, one would think he would be numb to the unfathomable whirlwind of emotions that came with the death of a loved one. But no, it was still a crushing sensation and one that he knew he couldn't physically handle if Peter were to die.

"I-i guess there's a chance he dies," Ned finally answered, his voice uneven and weak.

"Good," Michelle retorted, "I'm sure he'd be glad to see Stark and the others anyways."

Harley's heart skipped a beat in the most nauseating way and his chest tightened, "w-what?" he stammered— Harley never stammered, never skipped a beat. 

"You..." Michelle's eyes widened with something resembling sympathy, "you didn't see it?"

"See what?" His hands were shaking, "Em, I-I've been in my l-lab all day."

"The Black Order found the Avengers Compound and bombed it," she explained, her voice laced with an unusual amount of sensitivity and softness, "they didn't have time to react and... well... they're all gone. That's why Peter ran off, he wanted to look for survivors."

Harley averted his eyes, staring at his feet to prevent anyone from seeing the tears in his eyes. He was practically bulletproof, he never wasted a second of his time on earth crying. He wasn't about to let anyone see the twisted anguish in his eyes— not now, not ever. 

Despite his efforts, his sudden silence and clenched fists were enough for his company to see right through him. It was as if they had watched his world shatter around him in a matter of seconds, reminding each of them that they were all just glass waiting to break. Even when they felt invincible, like nothing could every hurt them, they were like statues constructed of ice and glass, they could be effortlessly crushed. And that's exactly what they just witness: Harley, the statue who seemed to be constructed of diamonds, had shattered.

Michelle reached forward and took one of his hands in hers, "are you gonna be okay?" she asked softly.

Harley briefly glanced at her and nodded rapidly, "y-yeah," he forced himself to sound less broken than he was, "I'm fine. I jus' need some rest." 

"Been a long day?" 

"Real long," Harley let out a shaky sigh.

Neither Betty nor Ned spoke, shocked by the reminder that Michelle was hardly as cold hearted as she seemed. She cared about the group of young people she was leading— there was a reason she and Peter had built the underground sanctuary. There was a reason why she had placed herself in charge of the village and not someone else— if someone died, the blood would be on her hands. She could take it. She didn't want anyone else to bear that burden. Her strict sets of rules could be mildly obnoxious from time to time, but at the end of the day, they kept the youngsters alive and the Black Order was still struggling to find them (despite not being too far from their last target). 

The state of Earth must be mildly confusing to an outsider— allow me to explain. Seven years ago, half of the population was snapped out of existence. Five years later, the Avengers pulled off a "Time Heist" and brought back the friends and family they had lost. During the "Endgame" battle for the Nano Gauntlet, the Avengers along with every hero their wizard allies could gather had fought for hours only to be met with a crushing, nauseating realization that they couldn't win. Still, they fought until they couldn't move. 

_Peter lay flat on his back, gasping for breath despite the heavy agony of his broken ribs. Tony was at his side in seconds, his heart pounding in throat as he knelt down at his side._

_"Kid, talk to me," Tony ordered._

_"H-hi," Peter choked out as the Iron Spider suit exposed his bloodied and bruised face._

_Tony's mask lowered as he sighed in relief, "don't scare me like that. You weren't moving, I thought you were dead!"_

_"I-I'm sorry," he replied shakily._

_An abrupt explosion made the two whip their heads around, just in time to witness Carol falling from the sky and crashing into the ground. Peter instantly jumped up and ran towards the woman before Tony could shot his new catchphrase: Wait! Kid, get back here!_

_Peter collapsed on his knees at Carol's side. A lengthy gash on her head was oozing with blood and the left side of her face was scorched and deformed with vicious burn marks. Her hair was blackened and disheveled. The sight filled Peter to the brim with horror, he went deathly silent and strained his ears, listening for her heartbeat._

_Th-thump........................._ _Th-Thump......................... Th-thum...p............_

_Her life slipped away before his eyes, leaving him trembling and pale as a ghost. He tilted her head so he could see both of her half-opened eyes. He pressed the pads of his fingers to her eyelids and gently slid them closed._

_For several moments, he could only stare at the corpse, holding one of her cold hands in his own. Tony flew up to the boy and the body, his heart dropping at the sight._ He's just a kid. He's too young to see violence and death like this. And it's my fault. I should've never recruited him. He has so much life left in him and... it could end any second because of me _, Tony thought desperately._

_"Peter," Tony rested his hand on the boy's shoulder, "I'm so sorry I dragged you into this, I-"_

_"We're going to lose," Peter whispered, his voice wavering and tight with sobs that he fought away._

_"What?" Tony called, hardly hearing Peter's words._

_"I said we're going to lose!" Peter rasped as he stood up and whirled around to face his mentor, "we aren't strong enough! We're failing them!"_

_"No, Peter don't say that," Tony implored._

_"B-but it's true," he whimpered, "they're gonna die because of us."_

_Having no more words of encouragement or comfort let in his body, Tony pulled Peter into a tight embrace. In the midst of the battle, the two held each other as tightly as they could. Knowing that they had failed, Peter felt, for the first time in his life, completely hopeless. And he had every right to feel that way because there truly was no hope for their world._

And now here they were. Earth was almost completely stripped of life with only a handful of scattered underground civilizations here and there. The Black Order overlooked the activities of the planet, killing off anyone willing to fight back. While their mindless pets, the outriders, wandered in packs throughout the day, they did their hunting at night, making it the most dangerous time to be out and about. As for the toxic atmosphere that had ended the life of Harley's sister and was attempting to murder Peter, that was caused when the Black Order dumped massive loads of poisonous gases into the air to kill off several billion innocent people. Why Thanos hadn't used the Infinity Stones to force humanity into a more graceful extinction was simple and (in Peter's mind) the Avenger's fault. While the Titan was completely reshaping reality on other planets, he still held such a deep and intense loathing towards Earth and its heroes that he insisted on letting the Black Order torture and torment them until the population fell to zero. This had been going on for two years— the Order was taking their time.

Michelle and Peter had just started dating when the world went to shit. Out of desperation to keep their classmates and other youngsters safe, they had personally constructed an underground bunker with minimal help from the Avengers and other outside sources. Even though they could've kicked it at the Compound, Michelle had a... thing about Tony. Plus, Rhodes had pointed out that 'if anything were to happen, being spread out might not hurt.' In other words: 'Peter, the Compound is the bigger building. We will be discovered first, even submerged underground. I don't want you kids being the first to die.' Either way, the two groups kept in touch and close by. Peter was fairly certain Tony had installed some sort of cloaking device into the teen's bunker, but he was more than okay with that. Michelle naturally became the leader with Peter serving her deputy. The two lovers had kept their miniature society together exceptionally well up until a few weeks ago, when their relationship had abruptly turned into a battle royale as opposed to a goofy love fest.

"Is Peter okay?" Miles asked as he hurried into the med bay with Gwen at his side.

His eyes were wide with horror and worry while Gwen had attempted to appear stoic, yet failed with her ghostly pale skin and concern laced into her eyes. Michelle let go of Harley's hand and hardened her expression. 

"Uh- for now he's okay," Ned explained.

"For now?" Gwen echoed with an arched eyebrow.

"He has regenerative healing," Betty clarified, "his body is getting rid of the toxins on its own. It's slow, so if it takes too long he could... y-y'know."

The corners of Miles's mouth twitched into a frown, "oh..."

Gwen quickly took his hand in one of her and intertwined their fingers lovingly, "he'll be okay," her voice held a fierce determination, "he's strong— stronger than poison."

Miles gazed up at her with his puppy-love gaze, one that made Michelle immediately avert her eyes.

"Yeah..." Miles finally agreed, "yeah, you're right." 

They were quiet for a few beats before Gwen spoke everyone's thoughts, "so... who's telling Morgan about her parents?"

Michelle and Harley's eyes locked and she could instantly see the anguish in his mind. She stared back with pity then sighed softly.

"I'll do it," she stated then spun around and left.

She paced down the hallway, giving Felicia a brief, quarter-assed smile as the two passed each other. She might have had her suspicions on the young woman at first, but they grew on each other quickly. Plus, Felicia was hot as hell and not afraid to show it, so that was something anyone could appreciate.

Morgan's room was in the center of the bunker— the safest location for the six year old girl. Her reason for being with Michelle and not her parents at the now ruined Compound was somewhat of a miracle. Traveling with a child (even for a short distance) was risky business, but that didn't stop the little girl from missing her big brothers. So, once every other month, Morgan was transported from the Compound, to the Bunker where she would spend the week with her siblings. Michelle had come to love Morgan like a little sister— the feeling was mutual and that made what Michelle was about to say even more painful.

"Hey, Mo," Michelle called as she knocked on the bedroom door.

"Come in," Morgan's sweet, innocent voice called from the other side of the door.

Michelle opened the door then shut it behind her as she stepped into the little room. It was small and sturdy, with a few drawings taped around the walls and a mattress covered in pink and gray blankets in one corner. Morgan was sitting in the middle of the concrete floor with a few sheets of paper and a handful of crayons that had been worn down to stubs.

"Um... Morgan," her voice was gentle and almost motherly as she sat on her knees a few feet away from the girl, "I'm so sorry to tell you this... but you won't be seeing your parents anymore... they're gone."

The innocence in Morgan's eyes disappeared like a ghost, "they... died?" she slowly processed. 

Michelle could only nod stiffly, tears welling in her eyes. She didn't care much for the Avengers, nor did she know them all that well. It was the reactions of the people she did care about that hurt. 

As Morgan crawled into Michelle's lap silently, she stroked the young girl's tousled hair tenderly. The exchange of gestures seemed to be a hushed message, like the spirits of Tony and Pepper had whispered in Michelle's ear: _you're taking care of our daughter now. Don't you dare fuck this up._

As Morgan was cradled by the young woman, she shook and trembled, yet not a single tear fell. While it was true she didn't fully understand what death was or ment, she did know this much: she wasn't going to see her parents anymore. She just didn't know why. Maybe she would ask Peter later. She could always trust Peter. He was immortal, invincible, practically immune to death— at least that's what Morgan thought.


	2. Do It For The Fam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I love these characters. I treat em like shit, but I promise I love them.

It was about seven thirty in the morning when Peter's body gave up its fight against the toxins.

The high pitched, drawn out ringing radiating from the heart monitor sent the three friends in the medical bay into a frantic panic. Harley's hand snapped over Peter's as his eyes went wide.

"Pete, don't do this," he cried, "man, you can't do this to us!"

"No no nononono," Ned muttered in distress as he rushed to Peter's side and cupped the side of his face in the palm of his hand.

Betty darted around the miniature hospital, frantically searching for anything that could be of use. Despite the helpless, sinking sensation that told her there was no way to revive the dead, she had to do something. She had to try. Ned took away the oxygen mask, his broken eyes scanning every inch of his friend's face as if that would save him. The ringing of the monitor was dizzying and nonstop, making Harley impossibly nauseous as his face grew increasingly pale.

"Ned, do CPR or something!" Betty snapped.

"His lungs and throat are closed! CPR won't do anything!" Ned shot back.

She knew that already— they all did. But when Ned spoke those words, it was as if reality had slapped them then screamed in their faces they were powerless to help their friend. They couldn't play god with this one.

Betty covered her face with her hands to hide her tears. The three had never felt more useless in their lives. They went silent with sorrow and hung their heads, overcome with guilt and depression. The heart monitor still rung obnoxiously, making it the only sound to fill the room. That is... until a quiet giggle broke their silence.

Their heads whipped around to stare at Peter, who now sported a mischievous grin. Their eyes widened, briefly certain they had imagined the whole thing. Then, he chuckled again and Harley's jaw dropped.

"You son of a bitch!" He exclaimed and Peter completely lost it.

He exploded into childish giggles, choking out wheezes in between his hoarse laughs. Betty could only stare dumbly at her friend as he cracked up.

"Peter! What the fuck?!" Ned cried, "how could you do that to us?!"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Peter rolled his eyes, "that was funny as fuck."

"No! We thought we lost you and we can't handle that right now!" Betty scolded.

"How did you even get your heart to stop?" Harley asked, his voice still high with agitation.

Peter held up the finger that the heart monitor should have been attached to, "I just unclipped the little thingy."

Ned actually managed to laugh at that while Betty shook her head in annoyance and Harley stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose. The uproar in the bay hadn't gone unnoticed, and Felicia stormed in with her expression scrunched up in concern and confusion.

"What the hell are you guys yelling about?" She demanded.

"Pete faked his death," Harley spat.

A sly smirk slinked across Felicia's face as she looked over at Peter, amusement decorating her eyes, "what kind of crackhead are you?"

"Your favorite kind," Peter winked mischievously, making Felicia roll her eyes playfully.

"That was not funny, Peter," Betty huffed, sounding like an annoyed mother.

"But all you had to do was look at my hand or personally check my pulse, and you would've seen I was messing with you guys," Peter pointed out.

Betty shook her head at him then Peter sat upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He leaned forward and exchanged a victorious high-five with Felicia, both grinning like dorks.

"Please don't encourage him," Betty scolded, not dropping her motherly tone.

Felicia opened her mouth to speak but was stopped as Harley spoke abruptly, "can I talk to Pete alone for a sec?" He requested.

Their friends nodded and obediently exited the miniature hospital. Peter's playful energy was whisked away and he shifted his gaze to look over at Harley as the Southerner sat in a chair across from him. For a moment the brothers could only stare silently at each other, the shadow of the Avengers' deaths looming over them.

"I can't believe they're gone," Harley muttered after a moment.

Peter shook his head slowly, despite looking in Harley's direction, he seemed to be looking through him. It was like there was no soul in his body, a complete contradiction from his previous behavior. Then again, that was Peter's way of hiding painful emotions: put on a little show to make everyone else smile.

"I can't believe it either," Peter finally mumbled.

"You doin' alright?" Harley solemnly checked, although he was certain of the response Peter would give him: _yeah, I'm fine,_ he really wasn't, _I'll get over it,_ just another scene to grace his night terrors, _we gotta take care of Morgan now,_ he'd do his best, but every time he looked a Morgan he saw Tony. That wasn't good for his already failing mental health.

"I have more important things to deal with right now," Peter stated coldly.

He stood up and started towards the medical bay's exit. As he stepped past Harley, he was stopped by a harsh grip on his wrist. He tilted his gaze downwards and locked eyes with his distressed friend.

"Pete, don't do this to yourself," Harley begged, his voice breaking, "you jus' gonna pretend there's nothin' wrong 'til you can't pretend any more. And when you stop pretendin'... you hurt yourself. You hurt yourself real bad."

Peter was quiet for a few beats, averting his gaze and looking everywhere but Harley. He was hardly considering his words— hardly heard them in the first place.

Finally, he looked back down at his friend who had become somewhat of a brother to him in the past two years, "I love you Harls."

Harley sighed, "love you too, Pete."

Peter brushed aside a few strands of hair dangling by his friend's eyes then kissed him lightly on his forehead. Harley's eyes fell shut, almost peacefully as Peter's cold lips lingered for a moment. Then, Peter straightened his posture and stalked away.

As he stalked through the halls, his gaze was sharp and cold. Torturous feelings of dread and hopelessness tumbled around inside him, the storm brewing in his mind was so strong and overpowering, he could physically feel it. He wasn't sure how, but his head felt clouded and heavy while his stomach was twisted into nauseous knots.

"Hey, Parker," a voice called, making Peter spin around.

His tense gaze hardly relaxed, "h-hey, Flash," he managed.

Flash opened his mouth to continue, only to find himself blank on what to say. Instead of finding words of comfort, he stepped forward and embraced Peter tightly, feeling him instantly relax in his arms.

"I'm sorry about your family," he said softly.

Peter heaved a sigh and wrapped his arms around Flash securely, but didn't reply. He didn't really feel the need to say anything, not when he knew Flash could feel his gratitude in the way he relaxed at his former-bully's touch.

After a moment, Peter and Flash stepped away from each other, "I'm glad you're okay," Flash admitted.

Peter nodded in acknowledgement, "thank you, Flash. I appreciate it."

"Anytime," he stuffed his hands in his pockets in an attempt to appear casual but failed when his eyes grew anxious and his gaze trailed to the ground, "a-any sign of my parents?"

Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek then shook his head stiffly, "not yet... I'm sorry."

Flash exhaled a shuddering breath then shrugged shakily, "i-it's fine. I didn't really think you'd find anything yet."

Peter sighed quietly then pulled Flash into another protective hug, "we'll find them, I promise."

Flash sank into his touch and clung to him tightly, "do you think they're alive?"

He hesitated a few moments, tightening his grip just a little bit more as he replied, "I'm sorry, Flash. I really don't know."

This was a part of Peter's job as deputy of the small community— find the family of his peers. In the past two years he had only found three people: Michelle's older brother (found him dead in the remains of a collapsed apartment), somewhat Gwen's mother (he only saw her arm by a pack of outriders), and Ned's little sister (she had been discovered in a flipped over bus— dead).

Searching for family was more painful than it was productive, but Peter felt obligated to do so anyways. However, search parties were strictly against his rules. They wasted time, recourses, and lives. Instead, messages were sent out in Morse code and on short trips for resources, Peter and his companions would stay alert, but never make active efforts to find others.

After letting go of Flash, the two parted ways and Peter headed to the main room. The main room was the equivalent to the living room in a house but instead of a television it held a large computer screen that contained most of the last recorded information on earth. Other than what was in Wakanda (which had disappeared off the face of the planet as far as communicating with the city went), this computer system was the only thing keeping records of math, history, literature, you name it. If what was hidden in the coding was lost— any surviving generations would have to start from scratch.

"Hey, Peter!" Abe cheerfully greeted his friend with open arms.

Peter welcomed a hug, that was on the verge of being too tight, "hey, man."

Abe's cheerful demeanor dropped as he stepped away from Peter and replaced with a mourning, sympathetic expression, "I'm sorry about your family, I know that's not easy."

Peter managed a wobbly, sad smile although he was truly just wishing everyone would act like the Avengers never even existed. He silently begged he could forget they ever died, but how could he do that when everyone was so determined to be... kind. They were genuinely just trying to make sure he was okay, and he wasn't, they knew that but they still wanted to be there for him. He couldn't get pissy with them for trying to help.

"Thank you, Abe," Peter replied softly, "do you know where Michelle's at?"

"Right here," Michelle called from one of the couches as she stood up and faced him.

Peter shifted his gaze to look at her, instantly matching her stone cold stare, "I think I should make a trip to the Compound-"

"Peter. They. Are. Dead," Michelle spat.

He grit his teeth tightly and glowered down at her, "yeah. I know," he growled, "I want to make a salvage trip to get any materials or rations I can find. I might be able to start making more effective gas masks if-"

"I don't really care," Michelle interrupted, "whatever you do with what you find, I don't care. Just don't waste my time telling me about it."

Peter rolled his eyes and huffed in annoyance, "I'm taking Felicia and Harley with me."

"Bring Jamie too," Michelle ordered, "I'm sick of him."

"Glad we can agree on something," Peter sighed then turned on his heels and stalked away.

He returned to the hallway then turned to where a ramp descending into the depths of the bunker sat. It wasn't overly steep to make transporting recourses to and from the storage unit/lab easier on everyone.

The ramp ended and welcomed him into a large, wide-open room that closely resembled and oversized garage. To the left of the ramp's end was a closed off storage area, where crates of rations and boxes of weapons and materials were kept. On the right side was a medium-sized, messy lab that looked similar to the one Tony would spend hours in.

"Jamie!" Peter barked, making a small, blonde-haired and blue-eyed boy jolt in surprise, "you're not supposed to be down here."

"Says who?" The boy shot back; if schools were still around, he would be a freshman in high school— the worst flavor of high schooler.

"Says me, Michelle, Harley, Flash, Abe, Felicia- I could go on," Peter hissed, "now go to your room and get dressed in something appropriate for travel. We're scavenging the Compound's remains."

"I don't want to," Jamie huffed.

In a burst of anger and annoyance, Peter quickly picked up a wrench from one of the tables and hurled it at the boy. Jamie yelped in shock and ducked, the steel tool just barely missing his head and collided with the concrete wall behind him with a loud clatter.

"Get the fuck outta here, Jamie!" Peter ordered harshly.

Jamie nodded rapidly and scrambled out of the lab. A moment later, Harley came rushing down the ramp, his eyes wide and alert with concern.

"What was that noise?" He demanded.

"Nothing," Peter replied, not looking at his friend, "I just threw a wrench at Jamie."

Harley suspired as he shook his head, "Pete, I know you don't like that kid, but we gotta look out for each other."

"I'm looking out for everybody by making sure Jamie either keeps his shit together and listens to us, or dies. He's a fuck-up, you can't tell me otherwise," Peter snapped.

"Don't call him a fuck-up," Harley disapproved.

"Name one time he did something right," Peter demanded.

Harley pinched his eyebrows together as he thought carefully about the six months he had known Jamie. The boy wasn't a good listener and often thought himself to be above everyone around him— this had resulted in not only him, but his companions, nearly being eaten alive by outriders many times.

"Exactly," Peter said after a few beats of silence, "now get ready for a salvage run. You, Jamie, Felicia, and I are going to the Compound."

Harley frowned in concern, "are you sure you're okay to go back?"

Peter paused, taking a moment to gather himself and suppress any signs of emotion as he shrugged, "I'm fine. Are you?"

Harley nodded slowly, "I guess so."

"Good, now get Felicia, get ready, and meet me at the main entrance."

* * *

Peter wrapped his scarf tightly around his mouth and nose then paused when he looked down to see Jamie without a face covering. He clenched his jaw and rubbed his eyes, already exhausted by the boy.

"Jamie," he took his scarf away from his mouth, "where is your scarf?"

The child shrugged, "I don't wanna wear it."

Felicia almost laughed, "what? Why?"

"Because it's uncomfortable and itchy," Jamie stated matter of factly.

Peter shook his head slightly and readjusted his scarf to cover his face as he replied, "die then."

Without another word, he took out a ladder and propped it up by the entrance. Harley hurried up the ladder, cracked the trapdoor open just enough for him to slip through, then shut it tightly behind him. They had to move quickly and keep the door open for only brief moments to prevent poisonous air entering the bunker.

Felicia mimicked Harley's procedure then came Jamie who clambered awkwardly up the ladder, struggled to heave open the door, and left it open for about a second too long, making Felicia grab his wrists hardly and yank him out into the open.

"Turn on the filters," Peter called over his shoulder.

With that, he hurried out of the base and stood upright, joining his company. While Peter's lonesome sprint to the base yesterday had taken around a minute, the gradual trudge across the land with company, would take the four about eighteen minutes. They traveled in silence, the scorching sun glaring down on them through the thinned atmosphere. Because of this, they all wore clothing that covered as much of their body as possible.

About two minutes into the walk, Jamie let out a hoarse cough, making his older companions look over their shoulders at him. Peter examined the boy who quickly collapsed to the ground, gasping and coughing violently as his body shook. Any other day, Peter might have shown an ounce of sadness or maybe he would've stepped forward and helped the boy, but he was just so fucking exhausted. This kid had been a thorn in his side from the day they met and he was fresh out of both sympathy and fucks to give. It was Jamie's fault anyways, he should've just worn the damned scarf. This was not Peter's fault and for once he wasn't going to blame himself for the death of another.

Harley hurried forward to catch Jamie as he fell to the ground, but was yanked away by Peter's harsh grip.

"Pete!" Harley snapped.

"Leave him," Peter ordered tiredly, "he's going to die anyways. There's nothing we can do."

"He should've just worn his fucking scarf," Felicia pointed out, disgusted by the boy's choices.

Jamie rasped inaudible words of despair and agony before abruptly collapsing to the ground as a lifeless corpse. The sight— as awful as it was— almost brought Peter a vague sense of satisfaction.

"I told him he'd die," Peter sighed then turned away.

Harley sighed heavily, his eyes lingering on the corpse a few moments before he followed his friends. They were able to pick up their pace now that they were relieved from Jamie's extra weight. While it was true none of them really wanted him to die, it was also true that they wouldn't be mourning the prick.

"It's been a rough couple of weeks for you," Felicia observed to Peter as they walked a few feet ahead of Harley.

Peter nodded slowly but didn't provide a verbal reply. Felicia held out her hand which he could only look down at for a few moments. Hesitantly, he reached over and took her palm in his gentle grip.

"It feels like we haven't talked— like really talked— in a while," she continued.

"We haven't," Peter agreed quietly, "I'm sorry."

Felicia shrugged, "it's mostly my fault."

He frowned under his scarf and shot her a confused look, "why?"

"I've kinda been avoiding you," she admitted, "I don't like the way you've been treating Michelle— it makes me nervous."

Peter's eyes widened, he had never considered how his arguments and feuds with Michelle would be perceived by other people. Did it really expose the ticking time bomb that he was? People thought they were merely seeing another side of him, but really they were seeing right through him— he was being worn down at a terribly fast pace. He was just so angry with everything. Angry that he and the Avengers had failed so miserably. Angry that the Black Order insisted on torturing them so slowly. Angry with Michelle for abandoning him in the way she had. Angry with himself for... fuck, where to start with that one. He hated every breath he took and every word he spoke, he hated being alive with so many others dead— including his family. And by “his family” he was hardly referring to the Avengers. He was referring to May. He could have saved her, he almost did. If he had reacted a little quicker... he couldn’t think about that right now. 

"Peter?" Felicia called softly.

Peter shook his head slightly as if shaking himself back into reality, "yeah- um... I'm-" he sighed softly, "I'm so sorry. But you know I'd never hurt you, right?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "I guess so."

He gave her hand a comforting squeeze, "trust me on that, Fee Fee."

Felicia smiled gently, "okay, I trust you."

"You two have a beautiful friendship," Harley commented from behind them.

"Thank you," Felicia called over her shoulder; Peter almost managed a smile.

Eventually, the group reached the collapsed crater formerly known as the Avengers Compound. It made Peter sick to his stomach to see the mess so clearly, now that the smoke and dust had settled. He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, trying to disguise the motion as clearing dirt out of his eyes, rather than wipe away the tears already beginning to blur his vision. His throat grew tight as he held back despairing sobs and his jaw clenched in an effort to keep his voice even when he spoke.

"E-everything is highly unstable," he managed to say, "stay close to me."

His friends agreed and kept within three feet of him as they paced around the side of the crater. Peter spotted a sloping slab of concretely leading steeply towards the depths of the ruins. They all silently agreed that it would be perfect for leading them into the rubble safely.

Before Peter could stop her, Felicia scooped up a sheet of metal and used it as a sled to slide down the ramp. With one hand clutching the steel and the other keeping her scarf securely over her mouth, she whooped joyously as she sped through the ruins, her silver hair flowing messily behind her.

"No, Fe-" Peter cut himself off with a heavy sigh then looked at Harley, "got any better ideas?"

"Nope," Harley muttered softly.

He and Peter peeled their own sheet of steel away from a collapsed wall and climbed on it together. Peter took lead and his friend sat behind him with one arm wrapped around his waist. He used his free arm to give them a swift push forward and sending the gliding down the concrete.

Peter shut his eyes tightly to protect them from the dust bring kicked up around them; he had forgotten to bring his goggles. Once they reached Felicia who awaited with her toes tapping in mock-impatience, they clambered off their sled then scanned their surroundings. The scene was barren and lifeless while the air was stale and cold with lingering death. Despite the building's inhabitants having died the day before, Peter couldn't spot a single corpse.

Sudden dread dropped into his stomach making his heart skip a handful of beats. Peter whipped around anxiously then spotted what appeared to be a crippled safe with the front side completely torn open.

"Shit," he breathed then rushed across the destroyed Compound to the metal structure that should have contained years worth of rations.

"Pete?!" Harley called.

Peter didn't respond, but instead examined the mutilated storage unit closely. His eyes glued themselves to the violent talon marks engraved in the steel, as well as a spot of blood and an outrider tooth that had broken off in a viscous scuffle.

He glanced over at Felicia and Harley as they approached, his voice was thick with trepidation when he spoke, "a pack of outriders swept through over night. They ate all the bodies and..." he looked at the unit's ruins, "and all their rations."

Felicia's eyes widened in panic, "what?! Peter, we need that food!"

"You think I don't know that?" Peter shot back.

"We only have maybe a month's left of rations left," she continued hysterically, "a MONTH! What're we supposed to do when that's gone?!"

"I don't know," Peter growled quietly.

"What the hell are we gonna eat?!" She cried, ignoring him.

"FELICIA," Peter interrupted sharply, "right now, I know just about as much as you do— which is nothing!"

Felicia went quiet then looked over at Harley, who had yet to say anything. He only stared somberly at the ruined unit then shrugged silently, as if to say 'there's nothing we can do about it now.' Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, gathering his thoughts which were each fogged with an off-beat mix of desperation and agitation.

"Peter," Felicia called gently upon noticing his distress, "are you alright?"

He shook his head and spoke quietly, his voice hardly loud enough for is companions to hear, "no."

Felicia reached forward cautiously and took his free hand in her own, "we'll figure something out."

He began to nod in agreement, but froze when a burning tingle ignited his entire backside. His muscles when stiff and the quiet sound of something shifting in the rubble around him forced him to snatch his hand away from Felicia then whirl around to search for the threat.

"What is it, Pete?" Harley asked softly.

Peter hardly heard his friend as he hyper focused on his surroundings. Felicia and Harley quickly considered it best to mimic his silence and warily eyed the scene. Peter strained his ears for any more clues only to be stopped in his tracks abruptly. A slimy, oversized outrider charged forward, using all of its limbs to propel itself at a shocking rate.

"Shit!" Peter exclaimed then swept a hunk of metal off the ground— he quickly identified it as the shield of Captain America.

While Harley and Felicia were out of the beast’s range and able to dart out of danger, Peter was only given enough time to shield himself with the vibranium as the beast rammed into him. Quickly finding himself pinned to the ground, Peter used every bit of strength he had to hold the steel above him and prevent the outrider from crushing him. It clawed violently at the shield and screamed horrid, bloodcurdling sounds as it desperately focused on killing the boy. Peter growled at the effort as his biceps and arms strained themselves desperately, each muscle taut and bulging.

Harley whipped out his gun and pointed it at the outrider. The pistol spat out bullet after bullet, each one colliding sharply with the beast's backside yet it didn't react in the slightest. Felicia frantically searched for a weapon of her own in the ruins, yet ironically found no obvious options in the former-military base.

Peter felt as though his bones where shattering under the weight of the savage creature and, for a moment, he considered giving up. There was no point in living anyways, if not today, he'd just die tomorrow or maybe the day after. Michelle wished he would die, maybe he should satisfy her— even as exes he wanted nothing more than to make her happy. In a month he'd be out of food, so he'd starve anyways. Death was inevitable. Life was useless.

Just as he was about to toss the shield away, an obnoxiously loving image flashed through his mind. Morgan's large, puppy-like eyes full of gentle innocence; her sweet smile that refused to fade despite the world crumbling hopelessly around her; the way she would wrap herself around Peter's arm and hug him tightly; how she would quietly mumble to him 'we'll be okay' when he was feeling desperate or mutter 'I'll save you next time' when he was hurt— he couldn't leave her. For the sake of his little sister, Peter wouldn't die.

With a sudden surge of strength, Peter forced himself to sit upright, throwing the outrider off of him with a grunt. As the beast screeched and lunged for its prey again, Peter ducked and narrowly managed to avoid its deadly jaws. He rolled out of under its stomach and smashed his shield against the side of its face. It shrieked in annoyance and pain then spun around, reaching out to slash its talons across Peter's chest only for its paw to be smacked away once more by the boy's shield. Over and over it lunged forward, snapping its jaws and swiping its claws as it hoped to land a blow on its snack, only for each bow to be deflected or dodged swiftly. The outrider attempted to clamp its jaws around Peter's arm, but was instead met by a mouthful of vibranium as the kid thrust his shield into its gaping maw. Flustered, the beast stumbled back a step and attempted to chomp down on the awkwardly placed metal.

Using the moment as a distraction, Felicia finally found two daggers that once belonged to the Black Widow. Harley tossed his pistol aside and managed to fish a rifle out of the rubble that was previously owned by the Winter Soldier. When Peter furiously smashed his fist into the outrider's face, knocking its head into the ground, the shield was spat out of its mouth and clattered loudly onto the ground. Harley showered the beast's back and sides in bullets that hit it with such force, they took off chunks of flesh. With a howl, the outrider collapsed to the ground and thrashed violently, urging Peter to take several steps back for his own safety. Felicia sprinted forward and hopped gracefully on top of their enemy. She stabbed both daggers into its skull, making the beast instantly go limp.

Chests heaving and limbs shaking, the three friends exchanged glances as if doing a visual one-over to ensure no one was bleeding to death. Harley glanced at the rifle in his hands which now drained of ammunition, then tossed it on the ground.

"Why the hell did they have a fully loaded gun layin' around?" Harley wondered aloud.

"It would honestly be more concerning if they didn't have a fully loaded gun laying around," Felicia pointed out.

"Touché," Harley replied then sighed and looked over at Peter, "you okay, Pete?"

Peter opened his mouth, yet found himself devoid of words to speak. Instead, he merely closed his mouth, shrugged, then turned away, prepared to continue their scavenging trip. Harley almost managed a statement, but was abruptly and rudely interrupted by Felicia's scream of surprise. In one last surge of strength, the outrider below her launched upright and threw her off its back.

"Fuck!" Harley cried as he scrambled away from the shrieking, thrashing outrider.

Peter hurried to Felicia and narrowly managed to swipe her away from one of its claws before it could step on her. The outrider whipped around with a fierce outcry and the two scrambled out of its way. Peter's eyes darted around the scene, searching for a weapon he could kill the beast with. Before he could realize the hopelessness of his situation, a missile whistled past the three teens and crashed into the outrider, causing it to burst the moment the two collided. Bits of flesh and blood exploded outwards in the cloud of smoke that accompanied it. Peter felt warm blood splash across his face and the scent of burnt steak hit his nose like a punch to the face.

"Ew," Felicia whimpered with her face buried in Peter's side.

Peter opened his eyes gradually and coughed away the smoke trying to enter his lungs, then hoarsely called out: "H-Harley?"

"Righ' here," the Southerner replied, waving smog away from his face as he warmly made his way towards his friends, "the hell did that come from?"

Peter's gaze trailed towards the trail left behind by the missile, then felt hope spark in his chest and his heart skip a beat in excitement at the sight. Harley and Felicia followed his gaze and gasped excitedly when they laid eyes on the bulky, steely mass of the War Machine armor standing stiffly.

"Rhodey!" They cried simultaneously in a rare burst of pure joy.

They raced and stumbled across the ruins, eager to see Rhodey's familiar, kind face. Peter felt tears rush to his eyes at the thought of seeing the man, the flicker of assurance in such a dreadful scene. He wanted to hug him tightly and cry into his chest, he wanted to take him back to the bunker and see Morgan's face light up at the sight of her godfather, he was practically aching with the yearning to see someone he loved as much as Rhodey.

The teens skidded to a stop in front of the suit of armor and looked up at it with expectant eyes. They waited an impatient three seconds for a response, a tiny bit of joy fading with each half-second.

"Rhodey?" Peter called, the excitement in his voice now replaced with worry.

Again, they were met by silence, making their stomachs sink and twist into knots. Not wanting to waste another second, Peter reached up and peeled the mask away from the suit. The tears in his eyes turned into tears of hopeless shock as his heart was instantly crushed by the sight. The suit was completely empty. There was no Rhodey, not even a corpse.

Peter was frozen for several moments as he stared at the useless hunk of metal, his eyes holding a completely unreadable expression. It was as if every emotion stampeding in his chest had exhausted itself to the point it was forced to cease its raging. Each feeling that had been swirling in his mind dissipated, yet if felt more like they had clustered so closely together, not a single one could be identified so it was best not to feel at all. His head was so harshly clouded, it felt heavy and ached horribly.

"Peter?" Felicia called gently.

In an abrupt surge of fury— as if it were the last thing left inside his empty heart— Peter cried out in pure frustration and smashed his fist into the War Machine armor, sending it flying backwards and crashing into a pile of rubble.

"Pete!" Harley snapped sharply.

"Shut the fuck up," Peter rasped, "shut the fuck up."

The growling, hateful nature of his words sent shivers down his friends' spines and forced them several steps back. His chest heaved with deep, hoarse breaths as the anger gradually subsided and the nothingness resumed its rightful position in his chest. 

Whatever this mind-numbing sensation of emotionlessness was, he certainly preferred it over the usual, bone-crushing despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okokok so I know it doesn’t seem like I love these guys, but I do. Also... how’s MJ gonna respond to finding out they’ll be outta food in a month? Surely she won’t let her friends starve.

**Author's Note:**

> Told ya it was a shit show


End file.
